


let's embrace the point of no return

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 50s Greaser AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The worst part about Mickey Milkovich—in Ian’s completely unbiased opinion at least—was that he looked very, very good in his Buddy Alcorn Mercury, with the windows tinted dark and the drivers’ side one rolled down so he could smirk at Ian’s look of blatant appreciation, the same one every time.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Ian's a jock, and Mickey's a greaser, and they're really cute boyfriends who live in the 50s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's embrace the point of no return

**Author's Note:**

> okay!! this one's for [charlie](http://charbees.tumblr.com/), because her birthday's today!!  
> i wasn't sure i'd have time to do this on time, so basically, after i finished my math midterm last night & was still running on the coffee i drank at 6pm, I decided, fuck it. anyway, i wrote all of this last night running heavy on caffeine, no sleep, and the exhaustion of having taken 2 exams that day, so any mistakes are my own & i'm fully blaming my professors anyway. 8)
> 
> oh, and i'm so not sorry about the gratuitous use of ridiculous 50s slang that i googled.

          The worst part about Mickey Milkovich wasn’t the way his leather jacket was at least a size too small in the arms and that Ian could thus see every tense and bulge of his muscles; it wasn’t the swagger in his step that gave Ian sufficient chance to greedily and blatantly ogle as he walked away (which, courtesy of his friends’ insistence that they all have matching cool guy sunglasses, Ian had opportunity to do plenty of); it wasn’t even how he curled his lip up in a sneer every time he passed by Ian and his friends, gaze catching just briefly on Ian through the haze of letterman jackets, his wink barely noticeable when his expression was so obviously dissatisfied.

          No, the worst part about Mickey Milkovich—in Ian’s completely unbiased opinion at least—was that he looked very, very good in his Buddy Alcorn Mercury, with the windows tinted dark and the drivers’ side one rolled down so he could smirk at Ian’s look of blatant appreciation, the same one every time.

          “Like what you see?” he called, though not loudly enough to alert anyone from one of the neighbors’ houses to his presence. He patted the side of the car as though Ian would be at all fooled into thinking that he was talking about anything but himself.

          As it was, Ian did like what he saw, but instead of mentioning it he raised his eyebrows and called back, “Look at you, all chrome-plated. Get all dressed up just to take me out?”

          “Fuck you, you love this jacket.” He rolled his eyes then, dropping the angry tone. “Get in, Gallagher. Drive-in starts at ten.”

          Ian grinned as he swung himself into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. “Aww, you sprung for a drive-in? How sweet. No wonder you took the tinted car instead of the bike.”

          “Shut up,” Mickey bit out, though his insult was entirely mitigated by the way he then swung his arm around Ian’s neck and pulled him close to kiss him hard.

          Ian clutched at the collar of his jacket—he _did_ really love it—but Mickey didn’t pull away like he had expected. Instead, he kept Ian drawn tightly against him for a few more seconds than a greeting strictly required.

          Ian laughed softly when he pulled away, though their lips were still close enough to brush when he spoke.

          “You miss me that bad, baby? Only been home a few hours, you saw me at the field at four.”

          “Shut up, catching glimpses of you running don’t count if I’m surrounded by my buddies,” Mickey whispered back. Ian could feel his smile when he dragged his mouth back down to his.

          “You _did_ miss me,” Ian teased when Mickey let him go again. Mickey shoved lightly at him, and he fell back into his seat, laughing. “Alright, alright. Let’s go, we’ve got a movie to catch.”

          He made finger-guns towards the front window, out down the road in front of them, and he heard Mickey mutter, “Fuckin’ _dork_ ,” before he revved the engine and peeled off down the street.

          The ride didn’t take long, it was just across town, but it was lengthy enough that Ian got bored and slid across the bench that was the Mercury’s front seat and started kissing languidly and deliberately at Mickey’s neck.

          They rolled to a stop at a red light, and as Ian turned away from him to glance at what street they were on, Mickey said, “Ian, stop it.”

          Ian smiled into his neck as he turned back towards him, Mickey’s skin all lit up gold from the streetlamps streaming in through the front window and the stoplight illuminating their faces.

          “Stop what?” he asked innocently, leaning up to roll Mickey’s earlobe lightly between his teeth. “Stop kissin’ you or stop gettin’ distracted from it?”

          Mickey’s hand fell to Ian’s thigh, slipping in between where his legs were pressed together, and squeezed. “Just…stop,” he breathed senselessly.

          Ian licked a long path from his collar to just below his jaw, and he felt Mickey shiver beneath him. He pressed slow, open kisses to his throat, then repeated, with his breath hot on his neck, “Stop what?”

          “Stop distractin’ me,” Mickey whispered.

          Ian chuckled lowly. “I didn’t ask you to focus on me,” he said, which was such a lie because he never, ever wanted anything less than Mickey’s full attention and he didn’t bother doing much to hide it. He went back to kissing slow and enticing at his neck. Mickey squeezed his leg again, and in between hot presses of his mouth he coaxed, “Look at the road…focus on driving…just…let…me…—”

          Before he could finish, a loud, extended honk blared from beneath them, and Ian jumped away from Mickey and back into the passenger seat on instinct. Mickey, meanwhile, had rolled the driver’s side window back down, and he was waving his middle finger out of it as the car behind them veered into the next lane and sped up, soon passing them completely.

          “Yeah, fuck you too!” Mickey was yelling after them. He stepped a little harder on the gas, probably trying to stay within earshot. Ian rolled his eyes and set his chin on his hand, propping his elbow up on the door handle beside him to wait out Mickey’s rant.

          The guy from the other car leaned out and started throwing obscene gestures back, which of course only incensed Mickey more. Ian sighed and started tapping the fingers of his free hand on the dash.

          “I’m doing fifteen over the limit, asshole!” Mickey shouted. “Yeah! Yeah! Hope you get pulled over while you’re getting your dick sucked, you piece of shit!”

          Ian, resisting the urge to tell Mickey he would happily get pulled over for the same if Mickey would just stop using his energy to be angry and start using it to let Ian rile him up, but he thought better of it when he glanced over and saw how red Mickey’s face was getting in his frustration.

          Finally, when the car had pulled too far ahead to shout at and Mickey had rolled the window back up but was still screaming obscenities towards the road, Ian sighed loudly and said, “ _Mickey_.”

          “And if he pulls in somewhere before we do, I’m gonna give that fucker a couple slashed tires—”

          “Mickey.”

          “—better pray to high hell I don’t see him and give him a black eye to match the nosebleed he’s got comin’—”

          “Mickey!” Ian slammed his fist down on the dash, not entirely satisfied when Mickey, now finally turned to him, still seemed preoccupied with road rage. “Not to ruin your little freak out over getting honked at—”

          “Ian, that fuckin’ dickbag thinks he can come up on me and—”

          “But,” Ian interrupted him, now shouting just to have the floor, “we’re supposed to be on a date and you look really good in that jacket and I would really like it if you would pay me your full attention, _please_!”

          And finally, silence reigned. Then, maybe worse than his distraction, Mickey started to laugh.

          Ian tried to stay indignant, but he ended up chuckling reluctantly when Mickey didn’t relent.

          “Stop laughin’ at me,” he huffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Mickey kept at it though, even when Ian said, “Stop fucking laughing!” and turned red, and so Ian turned a pouting face out the window and firmly decided to refuse to speak for the rest of the ride.

          Admittedly, Mickey took awhile to calm down, but he eventually managed it when they were about a block away from the theater. Then he started in on damage control, but Ian wasn’t hearing it.

          “Come on, baby, wouldja at least look at me?” Mickey implored. “Said sorry.” Then, lower: “Even if you _were_ bein’ a goddamn child about it—”

          Ian could see him casting as many glances as he could while still staying in the correct lane and so turned his nose up a little higher, looking away from him completely. He heard Mickey sigh behind him, and then the car pulled abruptly off the road, turning sharply into an empty supermarket parking lot. Ian looked around before he could think twice; they were only a few lots away from the drive-in from here, Ian could see the sign for it glowing a couple shops over, right behind the twenty-four hour burger joint. He glanced at Mickey without thinking, seeking explanation.

          “Said I’m sorry,” Mickey repeated.

          He reached over to run his fingers through the back of Ian’s hair, gentle and soothing. Ian scooched reluctantly closer to give him an easier time of it, and Mickey tilted his head at him, lower lip jutting out to help him look as cute as possible. As much as he wanted not to buy into it, Ian, unfortunately, found him very cute.

          “Please?” Mickey said, drawing the syllable out extensively. He unbuckled his seatbelt with his free hand and scooted towards him, until he was near enough to rest his chin on Ian’s shoulder. “This was our date night, I don’t want ya mad at me.”

          Ian grudgingly uncrossed his arms, if only so he could tug on Mickey’s bottom lip. Mickey took the victory and lifted his head a little.

          “You gonna behave?” he asked. Mickey nodded. “Gonna buy me a soda and stuff?”

          This time Mickey rolled his eyes, but he nodded again anyway.

          “And you’re gonna pay attention to me?” he checked.

          He could tell Mickey wanted to laugh again, but he saved himself by ducking down to press a quick kiss to Ian’s shoulder.

          “All attention on you,” Mickey promised.

          He leaned up to nuzzle playfully into Ian’s neck, then, and Ian finally let out a laugh.

          “What about the movie?” he asked, pressing his fingers into Mickey’s sides to draw out a laugh. “Surely you’re gonna pay attention to the movie.”

          “Nope,” Mickey said, popping the _P_ theatrically. Ian felt one of his fingers slipping through a belt loop, and he tugged—not hard enough to drag Ian closer, but enough that he could feel the pull. “Just gonna be watching you the whole time.”

          “That’s gonna get annoying,” Ian said. He smoothed a hand through Mickey’s slicked-back hair, just in case he thought he meant it.

          “Don’t care,” Mickey said. To Ian’s disappointment, he disentangled himself then, sliding back into the driver’s seat and starting the engine up again. Still, he had a warm smile for Ian before he backed out back onto the road, and he said, “Still on the hook for you.”

          Ian pressed his lips together, trying not to smile too hard in case Mickey got embarrassed and started teasing him about it. Still, Mickey let him pry his hand off the steering wheel so he could twine their fingers together on the seat between them, so he wasn’t overly unhappy about it.

          They rolled into the drive-in a minute later, and Mickey pulled into one of the spaces in the far, far back. Between that, the dark windows, and the fact that he’d chosen the latest showing possible, they were virtually undetectable. As soon as he threw the car into park, Mickey slid into the seat beside Ian, and Ian immediately threw his arm around his shoulders to pull him in close.

          “So, how long I got for this movie before you start mauling me?” Mickey asked. His fingers played with the bottom of Ian’s tight t-shirt, and he looked beautifully sinful as he looked up at Ian with his eyes wide and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

          “I’m thinking about doin’ it before all that even starts,” Ian said, pitching his voice unconsciously lower as he watched Mickey’s mouth. “Thinkin’ about starting right now.”

          “Oh yeah, tough guy? What, win a few games with your asshole jock friends and start thinkin’ you own whatever field you play on?”

          “No.” Ian thumbed over Mickey’s lip, freeing it of his teeth, and then over his cheek and down to press it against the pulse on his neck. He could feel his heart jump and stutter, and he smirked. “Just think you look real good tonight. Better, you know, if you got cold and wanted to take my jacket.”

          “Mine’s warmer than yours,” Mickey said, lips turning up at the corners.

          Ian shook his head at that, leaning in until their foreheads bumped together and then pulling back a little again so he could better look him in the eye.

          “Oh yeah? What if _I_ get cold?”

          “Tough shit, you shoulda brought something warmer instead of trying so hard to look like a popular dickbag.”

          “You like it,” Ian accused.

          “You just wanna see me in a varsity jacket,” Mickey threw back.

          “So what?” he challenged. “Because you hate seeing me in leather? You’ve worn it before and you fucking liked it.”

          “Maybe I just liked how it got you goin’,” said Mickey. “Oh, yeah, your punk ass was three times as frisky as usual. What’d you want me to do? Tell you _not_ to go down on me for half an hour?”

          Instead of giving in to the playful banter, as he so easily could have, Ian chose to lean in and brush his nose against Mickey’s jaw, then the side of his neck, then up into his hair so that he could breathe into his ear:

          “Do it again, who knows what I’ll get into? With just you…and me…and this movie going on for _two hours_ …”

          “Two and a half,” Mickey corrected automatically, and then, “Fuck.”

          Ian could have whooped in triumph when Mickey pulled away from him and started yanking off his jacket, but he settled for avoiding the tiff that would bring and silently shrugged out of his own coat and passed it over. Mickey turned around after he had pulled it on and stared at Ian, who, after shedding his own outerwear, hadn’t replaced it with Mickey’s.

          “What?” he huffed. “You’re just gonna make me wear this and sit there in your own goddamn t-shirt?”

          “Shut up, I know you like this shirt,” Ian said, which was true; he hadn’t said anything, but Ian had seen the way Mickey’s eyes lingered on his arms and chest whenever he wore it, so he’d begun making a point to do it frequently.

          “Yeah, but I look fuckin’ ridiculous.”

          Ian threw back a poor imitation of the pout Mickey had pasted on, but before he could get annoyed, Ian wrapped his fingers into the flaps of his jacket and tugged him over. Mickey grumbled, but he scooted closer, raised on his knees and awkwardly hunched half-over, looking down at Ian.

          “Nah, you look good,” Ian promised. He pulled Mickey a little closer, until his knees were pressing into his thigh and his irritated expression was close enough to kiss off completely, if only Ian stretched up a little.

          “I look like a douche,” Mickey complained, but breathily enough that Ian could tell that the petty argument was almost over. “Could be any one of those faceless assholes on your team, fightin’ over whose girl has the shortest skirt and who gives it to their partner best…”

          Ian bit his lip. “Hmm,” he said, the sound a mere rumble in his throat by how low he had dropped his voice. “Unfortunately for them, I believe that award goes to me.”

          With that, he tugged one more time on his jacket, pulling Mickey down that last little bit so that he could cover his mouth with his own. He opened up beneath Mickey, pleased when his tongue slipped into his mouth like kissing him was as instinctual a need as it was for Ian. He released his clothes as Mickey kept kissing him, pushing him further back into the seat, and dragged his hands down and around until he had one gripping tight to his ass—which was, as Ian discovered, very snugly fitted in his jeans—and the other hooked around his thigh so that he could pull him smoothly across his lap. Mickey laughed breathlessly as he fell, pressing even closer and licking deeper into his mouth.

          He pulled away after another second, and Ian chased his lips instinctively. “That right?” Mickey whispered in the space between them. “You think you give it better than the entire varsity football team?”

          Ian pulled him in again, getting lost in another kiss. When the movie started up behind them, filtering in through the car, Ian barely even noticed.

          “Better than the whole team put together,” he panted, his attention solely for Mickey.

          When he leaned up again, the kisses that passed between them were already more heated and intense than the easy, tender ones with which they had started. Ian sucked lengthily on Mickey’s tongue, the desperation escalating.

          The next time they pulled back for breath, Mickey murmured, “Prove it.”

          Ian hitched his legs tighter around his hips and flattened him on his back across the front seat in one swift motion. Soon, Mickey’s moaning was louder than the movie still pumping through the car.

 

\- - -

 

          Mickey was always a little bit like a cat right after Ian had made him come: Lazy, sated, and just that tiny amount more willing to let Ian wrap himself around him.

          He had an arm around Ian’s back while Ian tucked his face into his neck, kissing aimlessly and exorbitantly at his throat while Mickey stroked mindlessly through his hair, humming a tune Ian thought he might have heard on the radio this morning.

          “Have I ever told you—” Ian pondered in between kisses, “…how absolutely, ridiculously into you I am?”

          Mickey huffed a laugh. “That so?”

          Ian peeled back the collar of the jacket Mickey was still wearing, now without anything beneath it until it reached where his jeans had been pulled back onto his hips. Ian kicked Mickey’s shirt a little further underneath his seat and trailed his mouth along his shoulder.

          “Mmhm,” he assured him. He tilted his face up and, when he saw Mickey looking at him, he wasted no time in leaning up to kiss modestly at his lips.

          Mickey raised his eyebrows, but he quirked a small smile as well when Ian slid a leg over one of his and slipped his hands up into his hair, which Mickey had managed to keep miraculously slicked back, for the most part. He tugged playfully, but instead of the complaint he had expected, Mickey slipped his hands down into Ian’s back pockets. Ian grinned and mussed harder.

          “Ian,” Mickey warned. “I tolerate your flat ass as much as I possibly can, but if you start intentionally messin’ with my hair, we’re gonna have a problem.”

          “I tremble,” Ian said solemnly.

          Mickey’s glare only prompted laughter from him, and Ian ducked down before he could keep protesting to give him one more kiss before he slid off of him completely and settled back to watch the last half hour of the movie, despite having missed everything else so far.

          Ian kept a hand in Mickey’s hair for awhile, stroking deep and lazy. Despite previous protests, he didn’t seem to mind.

          Ian nearly had to remind him to leave a few minutes early, as they usually did to avoid getting caught in the exit traffic and risk potentially getting his car recognized, but Mickey seemed to remember just as Ian opened his mouth. He would have enough to explain with the hickey Ian had raised on his neck earlier without adding this to the gossip mill, too. Ian trailed a finger apologetically over it as Mickey edged out of their space and made a quiet retreat out of the theater lot.

          “You pleased you marked your territory or somethin’?” Mickey asked when Ian continued to brush light touches over the bruise, though he sounded more amused than annoyed, so Ian allowed himself to feel the slight pleasure that came with seeing the marks his mouth had made on Mickey’s pale skin.

          “No,” Ian said truthfully. Mickey shot him a look, and Ian could tell he didn’t believe him, but he dropped his hand and looked out the window instead of further explaining himself.

          For a few minutes, they were silent, but not uncomfortably so. Ian had lost himself in the song Mickey had going on the radio when he felt Mickey’s hand gently nudge against his, then stop. Ian smiled to himself, not looking away from the passenger side window as he flipped his hand over. Mickey’s slid over his, connecting perfectly. They didn’t say anything more.

          When they got to Ian’s street, Mickey parked at the very end, far away from where anyone might see them and connect the dots. Ian slid across the front seat, risking exposure for just another minute. Instead of complaining, like he usually did, Mickey tilted his chin up when Ian’s hands cradled his face, and he hummed quietly, almost peacefully, against his lips when they kissed.

          Ian moved with him when Mickey pulled away, drawing a quiet laugh. He grinned and urged a kiss one more time, and he leaned his forehead to Mickey’s after, sweeping a hand up through his hair. Mickey’s smile was gentle, easy.

          “You know,” he murmured, lips brushing Mickey’s as he spoke, “I’m real far gone on you. Real gone.”

          Mickey’s ensuing laugh was beautiful, musical. He pushed a hand back across Ian’s cheek and through his hair, fingers curling just behind his ear.

          “Me, too,” he whispered.

          Ian eased him up for one last hard, passionate kiss before he pulled away and out of the car completely. Mickey rolled the window down as Ian swung around the other side, backing down the street for one last glimpse of him.

          “See you at school, asshole!” Mickey half-yelled, half-whispered, as he brandished his middle finger out the window.

          “Wear my jacket,” Ian called back.

          Before Mickey could stop him and return the jacket now, Ian grinned and took off running down the street. He knew Mickey wouldn’t return his clothes until the next time he snuck out, because they wouldn’t be caught dead knowing each other in school. Still, he had Mickey’s taste lingering on his tongue, and his heart pounding relentlessly with the night he had had, and he figured—fuck it. He could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> [8)8)8)8)8)8)8)](http://badlandd.tumblr.com)


End file.
